


Honey, You're Familiar (Like My Mirror Years Ago)

by DollyPop



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Canon - Manga, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, F/M, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 17:11:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7276702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollyPop/pseuds/DollyPop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because even when she left for Oceania all that time ago, spent all that time away, it had always been him.</p><p>Marie and Stein and the space they spent apart.</p><p>And the space they occupy together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey, You're Familiar (Like My Mirror Years Ago)

_Babe, there's something tragic about you;_  
_something so magic about you._  
_Don't you agree?_

* * *

  **Day 1:**  Her face is puffy and the world wobbles around her as she looks out the window and sees nothing but white. The plane is overly air conditioned and every time she breathes, the oxygen is too thin. It isn’t the first time she’s been on a plane, her countless missions replaying in her head, to France and Italy, to South Korea, to Chile, but it is the first time she’s been _alone_ on one since she was 10 and came to Death City from Sweden.

Then, her hair had been done in perfect plaits, the ghost touch of her mother's fingers carrying even several thousand feet in the air and across the ocean. Then, she was bare faced and bright eyed.

Now, her mascara is still smeared beneath her only remaining good eye, the eyeliner carrying soot across her cheek, leaving specks of darkness over her nose from where her palm had carried it. Now, she crosses and uncrosses her legs, taps on the floor, hides her face away from the person sitting beside her. Now, she wants her Meister, she wants her partner, she wants who she thought was her friend sitting beside her.

But he didn't even say goodbye as she stood, knocking on his door. Stein did not answer her as she asked if he'd see her off. Stein did not wish her a safe trip. Stein did not say anything.

Marie curls inward and feels the baby sitting behind her kick her chair, wailing. And she envies them that they are allowed the tears. 

* * *

  **Week 1** : Her house is small and empty. She'd had the option of an apartment and decided against it, though now she wants the cacophony of children running in the halls and neighbors who bother her. It is too quiet in that house. There is no sound of experiments going sour, soft, barely heard German curses in a voice that made her heart melt.

Now, there is nothing but the bugs buzzing outside, massive, baseball sized insects that could and would kill her. She sleeps with a net around her bed and the breeze filtering in through the windows she refuses to shut. The shots she had to get make her arms and bones and self ache.

She fills her little home with daffodils and sunflowers, hand paints flower pots to put them in, watches them die and replaces them. She buys a watering can in the shape of an elephant, using the new bank account the DWMA has granted her, enough money that she could send half to her home and still have enough to buy a second house. 

Marie considers painting her walls and decides against it. She buys an orange loveseat and curls up on it, reading and rereading old books, Emily Dickinson and Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters. The humidity frizzes her hair and dampens her pages, but she leaves the windows open because if she doesn't, it will be dry once more and will remind her too much of home. The walls are too white and there’s no gray anywhere. She misses Patchwork Labs but knows Patchwork Labs doesn’t miss _her_. 

* * *

**Week 2** : The instant her phone is turned on, she calls everyone in Death City that she knows but only Nygus picks up. Azusa is on a mission, off trying to get her own witch's soul, padding her hips with 99 kishin souls to pass the time. Spirit is busy, too young to be the Lord's right hand man but somehow working through it, anyway. And Kami is too pregnant to waddle to the phone, and too tired, and too sad and heavy, besides.

Nygus tells her everything is fine. Nothing has changed since she left. How is Oceania? Are the bugs big there, like in the TV shows? Has she met any crocodiles? Has she made any friends?

It feels more like Nygus is conducting an interview, but Marie doesn't mind. The world feels just the tiniest bit less narrow and hollow when she does. And Marie is enthusiastic for the first time since leaving home, talks of the sunset coloring everything orange and pink and warm, talks of the water that lulls her to sleep.

Yet, when Marie asks about Stein, Nygus is silent.

* * *

**Week 3** : It takes too long for her to muster up the energy to call, so she doesn't stop when she gets the first dial tone. The sounds drip off, bleeding into one another until she gets the same old 'We can't come to the phone!' message that they recorded together just the year before. And because she is meant to be brave, big, bad Death Scythe, she calls again. And once more.

It is after the third time that she puts her phone down, staring at the receiver as she breathes in the thick air. In a way, it's typical. She should have expected it. She always should have expected it. She has seen too much to be naive about him, now. She remembers how she had to beg him to change the message from ‘Fuck off, I didn’t pick up for a reason’.

Her right eye stings with the tears she is now unable to shed from it. Her adjustment period is almost over.

She feels more lost in Oceania than ever before in Death City. 

* * *

**Week 4:**  The woman who works with her, her new Meister, is so cold that Marie feels a breeze anytime she gets near her. She comes home every night and looks at her phone and remembers the time difference and decides against calling anyone at all. She sent a letter a few days ago, but has no idea if it arrived or if he threw it away.

You don’t forget your Meister, she reminds herself. This is not desperation. This is yearning. This is wanting to find connection. No one in Oceania understands her. No one is there to fill the spaces her fingers leave behind.

You don’t forget your partner.

You don’t forget your first love.

Marie sits in her living room and drinks cup after cup of tea and plays with the silver chain Stein made her when she first became a Death Scythe and remembers and replays the kiss she gave him, her first kiss that she thinks she should have given someone else. She downs her cup of tea and scalds her tongue and slaps her cheeks and thinks she’s done with crying over him. 

* * *

**Month 2:** Speed dating is a bitch. She writes 'no' on every card and crosses and uncrosses her legs from beneath her long skirt. She taps her heels over the floor. She is nervous, and bored, and nods at the appropriate times. She starts to wonder if the table is a better option than the man sitting at it.

It is only after showing up to every event in a four mile radius that she realizes she has been looking for men with achingly green eyes who never have the exact right shade. She realizes that she has sat across press boys with wide grins and light hair that, in the darkness, she can see silvering. She refuses to admit to herself that it is unfair to both her and them, not to mention desperate, to pretend. 

She breezes through 8 boyfriends in 4 weeks and she doesn’t want any of them to touch her below the shoulders. 

* * *

**Month 3:**  The world stretches away from her. She still calls Azusa, sometimes, but she doesn’t ask about anyone else. If she can reach them, then she can ask them herself. Azusa is so close to becoming a Death Scythe and she is so much younger than Marie, so hopeful, so _new_. Gleaming like a freshly shined coin. Had Marie once been that new? It's only been three months but she feels so tired already.

Marie is 18 and scared and when Azusa asks her what being a Death Scythe feels like, Marie doesn’t answer ‘lonely’ like she wants to. 

* * *

_Babe, there's something lonesome about you;_  
_something so wholesome about you._  
_Get closer to me._

* * *

**Year 2** : When she meets Joe, it is raining outside and the lightning hums inside her very bones. She's late to work and the air is smoggy and thick and she has ordered three espresso shots in her latte because she's been up all night trying to work a case file that was dropped on her desk two days ago. She's always been a bleeding heart when it comes to kids, she thinks, it'll kill her one day. Or, at least, leave her with enough wrinkles and eyebags that she'll barely be recognizable.

He pays for her coffee even though she has more than enough money. He tells her that any woman who can down that much caffeine must be after his heart. She's just broken up with Felix, who told her that her thighs were too big, and she turns to see Joe standing tall and smitten before her.

She drinks her coffee across from him at a table in the cafe even if she's an hour late already.

Joe is good.He’s kind and she likes the fact that he brings her the same latte every morning, made exactly like how she prefers it. She didn't know he was working with her when she first met him in that fateful shop, but she's glad he does. He makes her feel less lonely.

She and Azusa call, sometimes. Azusa is busy with her job and Marie is busy with her own. Nygus gets in touch, occasionally, asks if Marie wants to show up to the dances and celebrations at the DWMA, and Marie always laughs even though it feels hollow.

She’s fine just where she is, she convinces herself. She has a boyfriend, one who lasts past the first week, past the second and third and twelfth. Marie has a heart that feels like it's beating again and a dream and she can see him at the end of an aisle.

* * *

**Year 3:** When they move in together, she makes sure it is nothing like the first time she lived with a man. The house smells of tiramisu and perfume, not of antiseptic. She buys a scratched up table and flowery tablecloths and they laugh in the mornings together.

* * *

**Year 4** : Sometimes, she looks at her ringless fingers and cringes at the idea that they will always be so. The world narrows into her once more. Azusa is too tired to call her, most of the time, and Nygus divulges no information, no secrets about Death City. Kami and Spirit are on the fritz, both too irritable to talk very often. Marie supposes that’s fine.

She goes on mission after mission and Joe moves into Intelligence and Interrogation after he breaks his ankle fighting a particularly vicious Kishin. Marie spends two weeks being his nurse, making jokes about “In sickness and health” that Joe only laughs at. 

As though it is a joke. 

* * *

**Year 6:**  Time passes her like she is on a train, unable to get off of it. She stares out from the window that is her eye and watches everything happening before her. She is 24 and soon she will be 25 and she is so scared. She wonders what Joe is waiting for.

She finds out when he dumps her somewhere in Fiji and she scratches it off of her globe and all her maps. She finds out when he says "I'm sorry" and "I can't give you what you want."

And she hates him hates him hates him. And she remembers back to her first rejection and she feels like she hates Stein, too. The thought is too sudden, too fresh, too achingly, horrifyingly sad.

She hasn’t even thought of him, save for in scraps, in years. The first cut is the deepest, she supposes, and she’s hurt when she assumes that he was the prophecy that told her how all her relationships would pan out: with her all alone, having given her all to a man who was never invested in her in the first goddamn place. Six years and no wedding ring.

Six years and not a single phone call from the boy, now a man, who was supposed to have been her closest friend. 

* * *

**Year 8:** Tinder was a waste of time, and so was OkCupid. She vows that she's going to marry her shower head since that, at least, has never let her down. But, maybe she's just too old, now, for marriage. Too old, too old.

The man she went on a date with, 8 years her senior, cringed when she told him she was 26. She bristles even now as she pays off his hospital bills, the broken leg, the fractured ribs likely not hurting nearly as much as her ego is. She wonders if this is it, she’s past the point of no return. She’d wanted to be retired so long ago, had grown so tired of violence and hurt and being a soldier, and now she wonders if that’s all her life would ever be. Joe calls, sometimes, and she doesn’t pick up, and doesn’t listen to his messages.

He’s not the first man to let her down. 

* * *

  _Babe, there's something wretched about this;_  
_something so precious about this._

* * *

  **The Year The Kishin is Revived**

* * *

**Day 1:** Death City is the same as it has always been. Sandy and dry and burning hot, and she sighs next to Azusa in the girl’s washroom, remembering that the last time she was in it, she was 18, a freshly minted Death Scythe who was playing with the silver chain her Meister had hand made her as a gift, blushing and hopeful.

Now she’s old old old, 28, almost the big 3.0 (good _Lord_ , does it sting), and she has to prepare herself for walking the halls again. She talks to her friend for the first time in person since she was 17 and she enjoys it. Save for the punching. Save for the defensiveness. She is as barbed as the plants in Oceania, closely guarded as she never was before. 

Which was why, walking side by side with Azusa, when she sees him, she gives away nothing. 

She can only see his back for a moment, but he’s nothing like she remembered.

He got _tall_. He’s still wearing white but it’s all stitched up, now. She guesses he must have learned how to sew, and now needed no one to foist his torn t-shirts to. But it’s the screw that gets to her. Death, what morbid prank was he trying to pull?

Yet, when he turns to her, his face has a massive scar on the left side and her smile feels frozen. It isn't a prank and she can feel that in her very bones. Azusa remarks (so casually, how had everyone else known? why did no one else care?) that he’s Marie’s first love and Marie wants to say no. That this is not him. Not the same boy who she shyly wanted to hold hands with, the boy who stumbled over Swedish phrases to make her feel welcome. This is not the boy who made her a Death Scythe and held her face in his clean, strong, capable hands as she cried from just her left eye, who apologized to her, said he should have tried harder to keep her safe.

Who is this man in front of her who tore himself open, who has the most blank look in his eyes as he looked at her? 

What has he _done_? What have _they_ done? Maybe she should have called, more. Checked on him. Maybe she never should have goddamn left. First he breaks Spirit open and now he breaks himself. She wonders why she didn’t predict it.

She wonders why she trusted him to do otherwise. 

* * *

**Week 5** : There is no time for her to reminisce. They are in the throes of political turmoil and her Meister, for he is her Meister regardless of what has changed, is falling apart at his well stitched seams. She never sees him without his shirt, but she knows he has more scars than just the one on his face. They peek out from his stretched collars, show themselves when his sleeve rolls up. And all she can do is be there for him, offer a hand, over a cup of tea. She feels like a flashlight with a bandaid but if it helps him, then it helps him. She cries quietly, in the room she has claimed as her own, silent, small sobs that she covers up with the sound of the shower. And he never checks on her and she thinks that’s for the best. She’s the rock, now. She has no time to be soft and sad. She had no right to be sad for him, either. But she still is.

Living with him feels normal. Feels safe regardless of what he had done to Spirit in the past. Patchwork Labs has always been home, will always be home. She gets lost everywhere else in Death City but her feet always find the stitched up building that she rests in.

Perhaps it is because home is where the heart is, where _her_ heart is.

She doesn't want to think about that.

The house is different from before but she can make it homey, again. She brings in couches and teacups, she takes her watering can along and buys a plant at the market. She doesn’t know why. She’s not supposed to be there for very long but she roots herself back into his life, anyway. And he roots himself into her life, too.

* * *

**Month 3:** She carries him out of BREW, apologies on his lips while she drags him from the tempest. She carries him out of BREW even though the children are in that vortex and she desperately wants to stay and fight. She's an adult, damnit. What good is she if she can't even help children? But Stein shakes and clutches her close, he whispers her name, and she yells "FRANKEN" at him, loud and scared, to try to snap him out of it. She know she is the only one he tolerates his first name from.

It takes him weeks to stop shivering, and she knows it isn't from the cold. She warms him with coffee and cupcakes, wears vanilla perfume, looks at him with downturned eyes. He's a grown man, capable of taking care of himself, as he did for 10 years (poorly, if those scars and the empty fridge are any indication) but he is still her Meister and she still cares for him. She feels that worry, those feelings, gnaw at her stomach, dig deeper inside of her and bloom.

Too fast. Too fast.

* * *

**Month 5:** Marie hears stories of the woman with snake eyes who tried to undo him, sees pictures of her in wanted signs and cannot help but think that this is what she would look like were she sharp and tempting. They have the same hair and eye color, and in photos of her as a nurse, the warmth is the same, the same kind, gentle smile. The black collar and flushed cheeks top it all off. She feels like she is looking into a mirror.

When Stein saw her, did he think she was Medusa? 

When Stein saw Medusa, did he think she was _her_? And why does that burn? Why why why?

Marie doesn’t even know her but she hates her.

Marie learns to look at everything like it’s a threat to her meister. The shaving razors, the butter knives. Her own face. She is careful to keep her eyes soft, careful to make sure that she announces herself before she walks into any and every room.

Everything is dangerous, now. And she feels herself falling for him like before and thinks she’s stupid.

It, her affection, and she, didn’t mean anything to him back then, and she means nothing to him, now, too.

* * *

**Month 8:** Joe comes back and Stein has scars on his knuckles from punching a mirror, and Marie knows that she kissed his wounds better, sitting in that bathroom and calming him, glowing gold and cradling his hands. Joe comes back and he tells her he’s sorry and that he regrets leaving her and it’s the first time a man has had love in his voice for her in too long.

Marie primps in that same bathroom she always returns to, ever coming back to that mirror in the DWMA that has seen too much of her, and Azusa asks her about Stein, the implication that going on a date with Joe while she has Stein is wrong. Marie closes her eyes and remembers how gentle Stein’s calloused hands can be when they’re on her knee in comfort or on her shoulder in solidarity, but she knows he only touches her when things are wrong. She tells Azusa it isn’t like that between them. He isn’t interested. He never was.

She may not love Joe, but he was familiar, he was safe. And, at least, _he_ loves her.   
  
When he dies she thinks a part of her died, too. The restaurant had been so empty, she had waited for so long, and he was dead. She had cursed him and wanted him to hurt and now she knows he’s dead. Dead. She had sipped wine and counted and recounted her tip to give to the waiter and thought Joe was horrible and he was dead.

Maybe if she hadn’t accepted that date, he would still be alive.

She'd been halfway home when Nygus stepped out of the shadows to stop her. She had been walking to Patchwork Labs and she saw her friend's florescent, honest eyes flash from the darkness. She had to grab the brick wall closest to her not to fall down when Nygus, grim and careful, told her the news. 

Not Stein, she wanted to say, but her mouth was full of cotton. Not Stein. Why? Why would he ever? Because he was jealous? Because he was mad? Nygus told her they didn't know if he did it at all, just that there is a warrant out for his arrest. And Sid had gone with Spirit to arrest Stein.

No. Not to arrest him. Nygus tells her the facts, the cigarette, the madness in the air, but does not tell her that Stein did it. Marie remembers how sick Stein looked, how blank, how bleak. She doesn’t want to believe he did it. She asks if it’s a joke. Stein? Her Stein? The Stein that was never hers in the first place? He wouldn’t. He _wouldn’t_. So she goes to the graveyard. So her knees buckle.

When Nygus asks her if she's sure, and Marie uses Joe as an excuse, as she always has, she almost cringes. She knows she is not going with Stein because of some oath she told a dead man. 

She knows she is a coward. She knows she should stop hiding behind it. But this is the Nygus who had pressed a knife into her hands before she left for Oceania and told her to be safe. This is the Nygus who always answered her phone. Nygus who always knew best. She doesn't want to disappoint her, especially when she doesn't know if Stein is safe. Not completely. 

Not until she leaves with him, several feet outside of Death City, when she falls against a tree and weeps, when Stein holds her as she cries, as she finally allows herself to break open, she knows it isn’t him.

No man who can hold her like that could be a murderer. 

Joe may have been the first man in a long time to speak to her with affection in his voice, but Stein was the first in even longer to hold her with it in every touch. 

* * *

**Month 8.5:** They’re in the desert and they rough it because they are running from God and the Law and they are on the lamb together. They sleep by dead trees and sand dunes. She’s worn the same shorts for a week straight. No man has ever seen her so unkempt. Stein’s hands shake and he questions himself but she’s not capable of being his rock. They have to support one another, now. No more one sided care.

She's almost ashamed of how quickly she gives in to how much she wants him. Because it isn’t love when they sleep together for the first time. She knows that. She thinks she knows that? She thinks all it is is that he needs to calm down and she needs to unwind. They’re good together, they always have been, this is just one more aspect of their professional relationship as Meister and Weapon. That’s all. (Isn't it?) It isn’t love but she cries when he takes his shirt off. She traces her fingers over his torso and his sides, feels the scar on his face, whispers “Why?” over and over and over again and he holds her. It isn’t love but she buries her face against his shoulder and shatters around him with a sob and she is so relieved she can just stop being in control for once, just for once, she can let go. Just for once that turns to twice and three times and ten times and more than she can count.

No man has ever seen her so unkempt and still wanted her.

By the time they find Justin, she is too thankful that he is the murderer and not Stein. She cannot feel sorry for him. Her mercy is spent.

* * *

**Month 11:** Death City is the same as it has always been, as it would always be, when she returns. They give their report, God apologizes to Stein, Spirit makes his ridiculous honeymoon comment and Marie is stung because she thinks she wouldn’t mind a honeymoon with him, but he doesn’t love her enough for that.

No one does.

They’re together by convenience and nothing more. 

And the worst is that she'll take that.

* * *

**When It All Unwinds:** Fighting Justin, again, burns, but not because she's emotional. Because he beats her, and beats Nygus, and she is bleeding. Her face burns and the scars he’s left on her belly burn. The knowledge wavelength in the air dulls her senses and makes her wobbly and she cannot dodge anything.

She remembers being thrown to the side, her name in Stein's mouth before the blow is softened, and then barely anything at all. The only scraps of lucidity she can scrounge up are of Stein's face, serious and handsome, as she looks up at him. She faintly feels his arms around her, under her, no doubt holding her in a Bridal Carry, and then she remembers nothing as the darkness took her, as she felt safe enough in his grasp to go under.

She cannot know how much time passes before she wakes to to Stein’s hands in her hair, instead, and morphine in her veins. She is back in the lab and out of the battle, and she looks up at him to spot how grim and concerned his expression is before he realizes she's awake. She knows her heart jolts in her chest when he smiles, cracks “in sickness and health, remember?” at her.

She knows she loves him loves him loves him. 

And when he goes to Russia without her and she replays his words over and over and over in her head as she heals, she knows she's passed the point of no return. Here she is, a grown woman, in love, again, with her first crush.

When he is away, he calls, occasionally, asks if she’s taking her medication for the wounds, asks if it hurts. When she does the same, he only replies with “I’ll be fine”.

Yet, the instant he comes back, she hears the door click open and runs through the lab, barefoot and wild eyed, to barrel into his chest and hug him. She feels his hand in her hair, his voice warming, telling her he's okay, and she’s holding him so tight, she thinks she might never let go. 

* * *

**In Freefall:** There is no more convenience and no more excuses when she gets pregnant and the moon starts to look like a graveyard. And she wants this baby and she wants Stein and she knows he’s been in the bathroom for two hours now, trying to come to terms with the fact that he’s the father. There is no more running away, now.

Or, at least, not for her.

Something in her hardens and she bangs on the door after four hours pass and she tells him if he doesn’t want the kid, or want her, she will raise it on her damn own. He's not obligated. She has been alone before and she’ll be alone, again. And she will survive like she always survived. She was without him once and didn’t wither, she can handle it now, too. 

Days later, she finds him asleep in front of his computer, having downloaded 12 different books on fatherhood.

The tears prick her eye and she kisses his cheek, prompting him awake before she tells him to go bed on an actual mattress. He doesn't apologize for the grief he's caused her, but he throws his cigarettes away, save for one that he smokes on the way to the moon.

She thinks he’s going to die up there and regrets everything she said about raising her baby alone. She wants him. She wants him with her. She didn't want to leave when he told her to go with the wounded after they kill Justin.

Then, she thinks _she’s_ going to die up there when he throws her, when he _must_ throw her, and the blood comes around her, calling for her bones.

But she goes back to Earth. She returns and the moon is a dark shroud in the sky, a sad, painful, bloody memory. Maka shrieks her name when she runs to hug her and Marie wildly looks for Stein in the crowd before she locks eyes with him, and mouths ‘I love you’.

And he may not mouth it back, but his soul finds her, and she can feel it. 

* * *

_Babe, there's something broken about this,  
but I might be hoping about this._

* * *

**When the Page Turns** : Viktor has his father’s eyes and his father’s hair and his father’s smile. If Marie didn’t birth that kid herself, she’d think he was just a clone. From the doorway, baby proofed like everything else in the lab via Stein's helicopter parenting, Marie smiles as Stein shows Viktor rubik’s cubes and plastic toys that Vik tries to chew on. Marie twists her wedding ring round her finger, watches her husband pick their son up and prop him on his hip, watches as Vik reaches for Stein’s screw and tries to climb up to Stein’s shoulders using it as support. She giggles and calls Vik her sweet boy, dropping her hand to her stomach and feeling the warmth of yet another soul. Stein grumbles about his creation and makes a big huff about it all, and she knows he loves his son with a fierceness that must burn.

At night, she sleeps next to Stein, curled up against him on a mattress big enough for both of them to sprawl out on, but they stay twined together, anyway. He kisses her shoulders and presses his fingers to her hips, opens his soul to her as she opens her self to him, and she listens to his heart beating. Even in the darkness, she can see that his scars have faded down to a silvery white, barely noticeable against the pale of him, now that he has stopped prising them open. 

When she glows, curls her fingers over his chest, illuminates everything, there is nothing left to heal. He’s fine. He’s always been fine being who he is. And she smiles when his hair, grown even longer now, tickles over her jaw as he kisses her neck and she holds him.

She does not forget how hard she fought for this moment, how difficult it had always been. She does not allow herself to believe that it will ever truly be easy: not when they’re human, and flawed, and scarred, inside and out. But they’re _together_. They are a good team. They have always been a good team, better with each other than without. And, as he wraps his arm around her and says her name with the adoration one reserves for the sacred, she thinks that, at the end of the day, together is really all that they have ever needed to be. 

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't even REALIZE how long this darn thing got. S/o to MeisterofMadness over on Tumblr for prompting this with their own headcanons! If you want to see their version of this, from Stein's perspective, as well as my draft of this fic, check it out here if you feel so inclined! http://dollypopup.tumblr.com/post/146317630684/meisterofmadness-dollypopup-okay-but-what-if
> 
> All the song lyrics and the song title itself comes from Hozier's song, From Eden! It's a gorgeous song, and I might write another fic to it sometime soon!


End file.
